


Nobody's Fool

by sian1359



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Trope Bingo Round 3, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 13:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2311862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian1359/pseuds/sian1359
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Clint was doing during SHIELD's implosion</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody's Fool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CloudAtlas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/gifts).



> One of the scenarios my recipient listed she'd might enjoy was "what the hell was Clint doing during cap2" and I hadn't done one of those yet. When word came out that there had been talk of a scene with Hawkeye and Captain America in Winter Soldier, I knew I had my hook. 
> 
> My thanks to Himself; he's Clark Kent to my Lois Lane in the first (best ) Superman movie ("is there a comma between mother-fucker and son of a bitch?") If you see something stupid, it's because I tinker, right up to while I was posting this.

Years ago, Clint had trained himself out of overreacting when a ringing phone woke him from a dead sleep. At the same time, and for many of the same reasons, he'd also convinced himself to never ignore certain numbers or ring tones, such as the main refrain from _The Bitch Is Back_ now assaulting his eardrums and getting his adrenalin flowing. So automatic was his response, that he rolled halfway across his bed toward the dock on his nightstand before his brain – and the pain from his broken ribs – caught him up. He had a moment to think it was a good thing that Nat was on a mission right now, as she'd be laughing at him for forgetting his impairment as well as at what she considered boorish and uncreative cursing, even if he did know the words in seventeen languages. Conversely, had she been staying over to ostensibly be around if he needed something, she also would have answered the phone and told Hill to fuck off.

He took a few more moments to get himself under control; long enough for Elton to start over again. This time he more or less slid across the bed on his back, then carefully rolled and reached, as flailing after the phone would more likely end with it on the floor and Clint hurting himself even more chasing after it, since it was obvious Hill wasn't going to hang up.

"I'm on medical leave, Hill!" he said instead of hello. "Remember? Two weeks full downtime and then desk and light duty between PT sessions?"

It never once crossed his mind that Hill was calling about Natasha's mission. For one, it was Natasha and while, yes, one day even the Black Widow might run up against someone a little better or more likely luckier, for this mission, she had Captain-Fucking-America backing her up. Two, when the worst did happen (unlikely to happen before Clint kicked the bucket), Fury himself would be the one making the call, especially now, after Coulson.

" _One hundred and fifty-seven minutes ago, an organized outfit impersonating DC police ambushed Director Fury's SUV as he was leaving the Triskelion. Forty-two minutes ago, Fury was subsequently shot while at Captain Rogers' apartment. Director Fury coded eight minutes ago and was not revived. While you're popping whatever pills you need to get mobile, start making me a list of names of those beside yourself who could make the shot, then get yourself over to Von King Park. The quinjet will be touching down to pick you up in fifteen minutes._ "

Jesus H. Christ on fucking pogo-stick, Clint thought as he made his way off his bed and into the nearby head. From someone else, he might have chalked it up as an elaborate practical joke as payback for his whining about having to take mandatory leave, but Maria Hill had never evidenced any kind of sense of humor. It would be a hell of a prank if she had finally decided to take the stick from her ass, but some things were pretty sacrosanct, like involving Nicholas J. Fury or Steven Grant Rogers.

Hill wasn't done.

"SHIELD has full jurisdiction over the crime scene. Marvin Abrams is the Agent-In-Charge. If that's going to be a problem, I can call him and let him know you're my eyes on this one."

"Won't be a problem on my end," Clint easily lied to her before dry swallowing a couple of off 'script wonders. Abrams hadn't had much use for Clint even before Clint had come pretty close to taking out the Helicarrier. They were both professionals, however, and Clint had long ago learned the line between 'problems with authority' and actionable insubordination. He'd be good as long as Abrams was.

Hill knew this, of course, because she knew Clint, and because she was a lot like Fury (and Natasha), and didn't miss much of anything going on around her. "You have direct and immediate access to my phone for the duration, Barton. Call me even if it's just a wild-ass guess. Coulson thought you were pretty good at those."

With that Hill hung up. Not that there was anything more to say. The unthinkable had happened and they all had to deal. Some incredibly lucky bastard had gotten the drop on Fury, the man that, before the Hulk came into being or Rogers had been thawed out, was thought to be untouchable in the intelligence circles, both politically as well as physically. Of course, Clint was walking proof that _no one_ was untouchable, and he wasn't the only elite sniper out there. The trick to it wasn't so much in making the actual shot, though there would have to have been some special consideration and expertise, given Rogers' place had been kitted out by SHIELD once he'd picked DC over Brooklyn or Stark's glaring monument to his own ego.

No, the real trick would have been getting the intel on Fury's movements in the first place. Someone on the inside was a part of it; Fury had one of SHIELD's autonomous smart cars at his disposal, and he never left or took the same route anywhere twice. Sure, there were only a limited number of routes that could be used, but enough to make it interesting, especially as Fury never left at the same time of day, either. No one could have successfully tagged the vehicle, assuming they could even reach it in the Triskelion's heavily secured parking area, as all SHIELD smart cars had built in detectors and diagnostics that would sense any physical tracker or computer trace. Clint supposed someone could have followed Fury after the first ambush, not that the director would have driven straight to Rogers' place, but they would have had to stay with Fury for nearly two hours for that to have happened; would have had to be better at spy-craft than the guy who had written SHIELD's handbook on the subject.

And none of that took into account the price tag. While SHIELD and Fury had no shortage of skilled and unskilled enemies alike, the ones with the balls to actually order a hit on the Director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division had to be limited to a few very rich, very powerful, or very connected people. The various Tongs, Triads and Yakuza refused to touch him, at least officially, as did the Cartels, despite the bounty topping two mil before the Mexican crime landscape had abruptly undergone radical redistribution with the bounty suddenly rescinded. Of the Mafias, only the Russians were dumb enough to seriously consider it, but even they had only made a few half-hearted efforts before Natasha had effectively reminded them why they were being idiots.

No doubt Hill was looking into who was behind the hit on herself. She might not be SHIELD Deputy Director any longer (having willingly sacrificed her own position to appease the World Security Council after Loki, so that Fury didn't have to), but she'd played the game at the rarified heights of world leaders and Stark-level CEOs enough to know who the likely candidates were. Once Clint came up with his own list, they'd just need to find the intersections –

It wouldn't be that easy, of course, and even if they could narrow it down to two single choices for the jobs, finding any proof at that level of the game would be nearly impossible. If, somehow, they did manage it, however, and had two perfect, unimpeachable targets, Clint doubted the WSC would ever give the go ahead to exact justice, since they simply shunned and leveled economic sanctions against rogue heads of state, and maybe sent multinational fat cats to country club prisons, while at the same time still accepting their political contributions. There was a reason, however, that he and Nat mostly got their missions directly from Fury or Hill instead of Hand or Sitwell, just as there were definite reasons why Fury and Coulson had named their Initiative Avengers – and, again, why he and Nat had been chosen to be part of it alongside the gods, the super-heroes, and the Hulk.

******

By the time Clint got boots on the ground outside of Rogers' apartment, the sun was rising and he had compiled a list of eleven names as the most likely to have taken out Fury. His leading contenders were all locals as far as operating mostly out of the US; Benjamin Poindexter, who called himself Bullseye and considered himself a super-villain, William Cross who certainly had the ego to call himself a super-villain, Frank Castle, Andrew Booth, and BellaDonna Boudreaux, who was the head of the stateside Assassin's Guild. Georges Batroc would have been on the most likely list, but apparently he was already in SHIELD custody, Clint had found out when he checked on known whereabouts. Batroc had been picked up only hours ago – in Algiers – so unless he had his own super-power or super-tech that allowed him to instantly teleport from one location to another, he couldn't have been the shooter.

Once Clint talked himself into using the decrepit fire escape to the roof of the building next to where Abrams had directed the sci-techs, his initial list dropped down to just Cross and Poindexter because of the level of difficulty this angle presented, and the sloppiness of the assassin in cleaning up after himself. Booth just wasn't good enough, Boudreaux was much more likely to kill a man like Fury up close and personal, and while Castle had the skill, he mostly took contracts on people he felt deserved it; the same kind of work Clint had done when he was a kid with only one marketable skill he was willing to sell. While there were many people who no doubt felt that Fury deserved killing, he was still considered on the side of the angels, a factor that law enforcement couldn't just let go and do a half-ass job, if SHIELD didn't take care of it themselves.

Just to be thorough, Clint also added a couple of skilled international shooters to his list, ones who would work the States if the price was right and not simply money. But Elektra Natchios took her marching orders from The Hand, and the other was a ghost, a boogeyman who got brought up in hushed whispers and was only known by his code-name: the Winter Soldier.

While Clint didn't doubt the Soviets had indeed run an operative named Winter Soldier, he figured the name was just a title; like the Dread Pirate Roberts – or the Black Widow (though Natasha had made the title her own and no one else dared used it) – since rumors of an assassin by the named first started at the end of World War II and with the rise of the Soviet Union. Assuming the Winter Solider was just one guy all along, he'd be pushing at least eighty, and for someone that age to have made this shot …

At least he had a better understanding now why the sci-tech geeks were working the wrong building. He could even grant the idea that the shooter had scouted the building being gone over before they'd chosen this one to make the kill – certainly something was keeping them busy over there. But it looked like that was all they were going to check, which meant he'd have to let Abrams know he had to expand his thinking. He wasn't in any hurry to do so, however, as he was in no hurry to hear his expertise denigrated or hear one more 'joke' about whether he was sure he hadn't been the one to make the kill and just didn't remember or couldn't stop himself this time either.

For the most part, Clint had gotten past what he'd done at Loki's bidding, and he knew a certain type of gallows humor was the only way to cope with something of this – or the Battle of New York's – magnitude. He even suspected most of the folks making the jokes didn't really doubt that Clint hadn't had any control over his actions. Some jokes lost their wit with constant retelling, however, or just weren't all that funny in the first place.

He called Hill back first.

"Where are you?" he asked when she picked up before the second ring could end. He started checking out the other sides of the building to see if he could determine how the shooter made his way up.

" _Out taking care of arrangements. What do you have for me_?"

"A very short list that I'm sending as an attachment when I hang up. We're also talking bankrupt your country, company or your political currency as a kill fee. Who on the WSC hates Fury the most?"

" _Not funny, Barton. I'm assuming from that remark that you're using your Stark phone instead of your SHIELD one?_ "

"I am, but I'll repeat it on my SHIELD phone if you want it for the archives. I might not have been all there for the start of the mess two years ago, but I was back to myself in time to see Stark nearly kill himself flying their goddamned nuke into space."

Fire escapes on only two sides, and this second one was missing two of its lower levels. Someone could have used, but why would they have bothered when there was a perfectly serviceable one that just needed a leap to bring down the retractable portion to the ground?

" _Not the same people on the council now_ ," she reminded him.

"Yeah, they are. At least in all the ways that count."

The inside access point wasn't just locked, but wielded shut so, again, while it could have been used (and staged this way), that would have entailed someone planning this job well in advance and being on sight for longer than anyone was thinking. That could mean Rogers had been the actual target and Fury just one of opportunity.

" _You mean they're not to be trusted_ ," Hill summarized, with a tone more earnest than sarcastic.

Clint supposed she could still just be reeling from Fury's death (he certainly was). Coupled with the phone remark (had that been a warning?), and the fact that Hill had called on him in the first place when SHIELD had a legion of analysts devoted to studying and keeping track of the world's top assassins, her paranoia could be something more. He already expected they'd find an insider involved –

"Barton, did you not bring a fucking phone!" Abrams suddenly shouted up from street level. "Judas Priest, get your ass down here and talk to Agent Sitwell!"

"Why is Sitwell looking for me, Hill?" Clint asked as he waved at Abrams in acknowledgment, middle finger extended though he doubted Abrams could make that out. He didn't ask how Sitwell had found out Clint was on scene; that had Abrams' hand all over it.

" _Because Abrams thinks you're an asshole and he's one too, so he told on you because he wants to be the one who breaks the case, I imagine,_ " Hill answered, drawing the same conclusion. " _As far as to what end Sitwell is calling back to speak to you, I have no idea what he might want. Find out and call me back_."

Sure, because Jasper Sitwell was someone Clint wanted to talk to just now. Still, he said '"Yes, ma'am,"' before hanging up and beginning the trek down five stories.

Sitwell's rise in the ranks had come hand-in-hand with Hill's demotion, and while Sitwell hadn't gotten the former Deputy Director's position, he was being groomed for it according to rumors. Which was too bad, as far as Clint was concerned, since once upon a time, Sitwell had been an okay guy and a pretty good mission handler, was someone who got invited to the monthly poker game. Now that he'd been bumped up to the Domestic Field Ops Second, however, he had suddenly become too busy, _too important_ , to waste his time making friends with the field agents (as if he'd be invited any more). And while he and Hill had never been friends before their respective moves within SHIELD, the antagonism between them had only grown once she'd settled in as liaison to the Avengers, as well as overseeing Fury's pet projects.

There was certainly a petty part of Clint that would have liked to see Sitwell get his shot with the Avengers, if only to see Cap look so damn disappointed at his lack of imagination, not to mention having a front row seat to whatever Stark would have done to him. Hill had earned their respect, however – Banner's too, and she'd unbent enough that the team could work with her instead of around her, which was a lot more important than something for the entertainment value.

Of course Abrams had fled the scene by the time Clint made his way down. He'd at least assigned one of his junior techs to wait, and she looked mildly interested in whatever Clint had been doing up there, although she didn't come out and ask. He rewarded her curiosity.

"The shooter fired from that roof," he told her. "Not sure how he got himself up or down, but on one of the shots, his brass split upon landing, and a piece of it splintered off." With that, he tossed her the baggy with the shard. "Some of you might want to start doing your forensic thing – "

"God dammit!" she groused. "I asked Abrams if we should check it, but he said not even the world's greatest marksman could make the shot from there…"

Clint left her to her bitching, ignoring the world's greatest marksman dig; no doubt that had been all Abrams and meanly meant, but not by her since the rest of her tirade was about being dismissed because she was the newest on the team and a woman, and not about the shooter. He restarted the Stark-written encryption cypher on his phone, one that prevented any back traces by any spy agency or eavesdropper. Each of the Avengers had it, as did Hill and most likely a few select Stark employees and friends, but Stark had neglected to mention to SHIELD that he'd designed it specifically to keep SHIELD from prying, and the rest of the lock-outs were just a bonus.

"I'm not hassling the techs," he said preemptively when a SHIELD comm officer eventually switched him over to Sitwell's phone.

" _You are violating field ops as well as medical protocols regardless_ ," Sitwell responded, an unforgiving snap to his voice. " _So I guess your girlfriend filled you in_."

Girlfriend in Sitwell-speak (and most of SHIELD's rank and file) meant Natasha, though in this one instance it could have meant Hill if Sitwell was feeling especially catty. It wasn't worth correcting the guy over who had brought Clint up to speed though, nor worth repeating for the umpteenth time, that Nat was his _partner_ , not his girlfriend (and she'd kick Sitwell's fucking ass if she heard him call her Clint's girlfriend). Sure, they had sex together occasionally (really good, really hot and dirty sex), but girlfriends and boyfriends, were fleeting in Clint's life, physically intimate but not emotionally close, certainly not in the sense of the level of trust and comfort that existed between him and Nat.

" _Any other time, I'd write you up_ ," Sitwell was going on, " _but right now, I have more important things to deal with. Since you put yourself on this, I'm going to use you_."

As if that wasn't ominous. Clint made sure to move out of range from his sci-tech minder, Abrams, and everyone else, picking the foyer of Rogers' building since most of his neighbors were good working stiffs or college students.

" _As of right now, Captain America is a person of interest in Director Fury's death. He just took out Rumlow's strike team as well as two other response teams, and a quinjet for being asked to answer a couple of questions since he was the last person to see Fury alive. Rogers is heading your way, I assume going back to his apartment to regroup or get something to pass on to whoever he's working for; possibly to destroy something he can't have us find. Abrams will handle searching his apartment and you will handle his containment while new retrieval teams head out to bring him in. I'm assuming you have your damn bow with you and your trick arrows, but if you have to pump a few bullets into Rogers to prevent him from getting away, he'll heal_."

For a moment Clint put the rest of Sitwell's little speech aside, focusing on the most important issue, at least the one impacting his immediate future. "Tell me you did not just order me to shoot Captain America." Of all the things he'd heard since he woke up today –

" _I damn well did. What's the problem, Barton? You can only shoot SHIELD personnel when they aren't expecting or don't deserve it_?"

That mother-fucking son of a bitch –

"Fuck you, Sitwell."

" _That's Commander Sitwell or Agent if you're so_ – "

Oh hell no.

"Again, fuck you, _Jasper_. Or have you forgotten who set you up with Tilson and I don't care that you're now divorced, you were fucking panting after her so badly it was embarrassing. Or if you'd rather, who bailed your ass out in Osaka, Cape Town and Madrid. Jesus, dude, when did you turn into such a dick?"

" _Oh, how about two years ago,_ Clint _, when one of our assets helped a mad god take out ten percent of our personnel and I had to step up and fill too many empty shoes. We all have to be able to do our jobs, whether we always like what they entail or not. I thought you were one of those that understood that, which is why I spoke up on your behalf when so many others wanted to boot you on your sorry ass. Was I wrong? Are you just one more Captain America fanboy or are you an agent of SHIELD_?"

"I've got my bow with me," Clint bit off instead of telling Sitwell to fuck himself and die a third time (for Coulson's benefit as well as his own), as that was unlikely to gain him anything, and just might prove truly detrimental, given the shit Sitwell was dredging up.

Better for it to be him to confront Rogers anyway over someone who might not even try to talk first; someone who might not have the skill to stop Rogers without doing some serious damage. Someone who might 'accidentally' kill him if The Powers That Be were convinced Rogers was involved in Fury's death.

" _If you can steer Rogers somewhere out of the public view, it would be better for there not to be footage on the evening news or all over the blogosphere of Avengers fighting one another_ ," Sitwell steered the conversation back on track instead of engaging in more personal attacks, obviously seeing Clint's acquiescence as giving in instead of simply wanting the conversation – the whole day – to be over.

" _Especially if you have to put him down temporarily._ "

No shit, Sherlock.

" _But I'd rather have to deal with a PR nightmare than let a guilty man go free,_ " Sitwell continued. " _Do you understand_?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

" _Good. And when you're done, Barton, check yourself into HQ and pick up a new phone before reporting back to Medical. Yours doesn't seem to be accepting direct calls, and we can't afford to have you completely out of the loop right now_."

We, as in him, since Hill, who happened to be his SHIELD boss as well as his SHIELD liaison if he changed into his Avenger hat, could reach him just fine. But Clint held his tongue yet again instead of this time reminding Sitwell that he didn't work for him. 

"Yeah, I'll do that. Barton out." He then hung up before Sitwell could give him more grief or orders he had no intention of following, and high-tailed it up to Rogers' apartment to do a quick recon before Abrams got his marching orders. Hopefully he'd find some sort of inspiration and come up with a plan, though he'd have to wait until he was back on the street to call Hill and get her input. If SHIELD had bugged the Captain America suit, they would have also bugged Captain America's home.

******

Clint wasn't surprised by the helicopter that buzzed him as he waited a few streets down from Rogers' apartment, having chosen an under construction industrial park in the area being built up around a community rec center as the stage for their confrontation. SHIELD's jurisdictional claim over the crime scene would have extended to the air, and while it was possible one or more news agencies had picked up the story of Fury's assassination, he had little doubt that SHIELD had strong-armed them into ignoring where the kill had been made. Which pretty much left the helicopter as SHIELD's – some sort of overwatch. No doubt the DC cops, as well as the White House, were collectively having mutant kittens (not as fun to fight as one might think, when they coughed up man-sized hairballs and had claws the length of Clint's bow, although watching Banner, in his Hulk, persona chase after them so he could hug and pet and call them all George' had had its moments) if SHIELD was ignoring DC's restricted airspace. He'd been expecting a quinjet, but the copter wasn't going to be a problem with his plan, unless if fucking scared Rogers off.

Even as he was thinking that, the 'copter started rising and heading further away, which most likely meant that Rogers was on his approach. The rising sound of a vintage Harley in the otherwise empty neighborhood pretty much confirmed it. Clint scrambled up his to his vantage point, moving mostly on anxiety and adrenalin now; wishing he'd thought to bring more meds, though he would already be paying for what he'd taken just to get this far when he finally let himself stop. Despite his orders, Clint had no intention of actually hitting Rogers directly, so the limitations his aching ribs put on his draw weren't a problem, other than the obvious one.

He gritted his teeth and fired five neatly aligned shots perpendicular across the road just as Rogers turned the corner. It was his hope that the distinctive shafts (the middle one with a hastily tied ribbon made out of one of Rogers' many white t-shirts would get his intentions across and, indeed, Rogers immediately slowed his approach and began searching for Clint's position.

Clint wasn't particularly hiding, though the afternoon sun was behind him, so he not only stood partially in a shadow cast by the nearest building, but he'd have a glare around him though none of it should be beyond a super soldier's abilities. And he was only twelve feet above street level, having chosen to stand on the roof of what would eventually be a carport for reserved parking slots. He gave a quick wave of his bow anyway, to make sure he drew Rogers' eye, in a move that should to the cameras that pulled back to the edge of the helicopter's visual range given the environment, however, look like he was simply repositioning his draw.

It worked, at least on street level. He and Rogers made eye contact. Before Clint could follow up with a warning and another warning shot, Rogers' face twisted into one of his expressions of disappointment before he laid his bike down and revved into a ninety degree turn that would take him away from Clint, not to mention off the street and onto the trashed-filled vacant lot of dirt and scrawny bushes.

None of that was part of Clint's game plan; he'd need to stop Rogers before he fucked everything up, including making Clint jump down from his perch so he could follow in pursuit. The big old shield across Rogers back made an excellent target. Clint centered his hit perfectly, again pulling the draw. Not that he could have pierced the shield even at full strength – not unless he was using some sort of razor point that Stark hadn't invented yet, out of a non-existent metal that could cut through vibranium. He'd merely wanted to let Rogers know it would be in everyone's best interest if they talked.

Rogers, apparently, saw it as a different kind of declaration, going by the look of pure betrayal Clint received when Rogers slowed again and slewed the bike back around. Clint was a little insulted that Rogers could think this was an attack; that he couldn't hit Rogers somewhere it might hurt, but before he could point that or anything else out, Rogers was pulling off his god damn shield and tossing it Clint's direction.

Not at his body, thank god, but Clint had been calculating trajectories most of his life it had no doubt it was aimed to ricochet between the two nearest support columns holding up the roof he stood on. Which meant Clint was going down and his only hope to control his fall was to jump first.

"Mother fucking stupid paranoia, I'm trying to help!" he shouted before taking the brunt of the fall across his shoulders in a tumbling roll learned in his circus days, but refined during his stint with SHIELD from too many mission nests disappearing out from under his feet. The roll did his ribs no favor; at least one that had been only cracked before now gave way. He still managed to end up in a kneeling position and started reaching for another shaft with one hand while he fingered the controls to affix a low yield explosive tip. It wasn't like Rogers wouldn't just shake it off, though it would be a shame about the bike.

Clint placed the shot just at the front tire. Dirt and bike took to the air, the concussive force also neatly redirecting the shield as it was winging back to its wielder. Rogers rolled with the fall, positioning himself so that when he came out of it, he was in reach of the shield anyway and this time it headed directly toward Clint.

Like Clint wanted to find out what even a soft-balled pitch from Rogers felt like, on a good day.

He aimed his next shot to deflect the shield once more, insulted again when Rogers made a noise of surprise. Sure, Clint might be just a plain old human; couldn't be as fast as Rogers, but he could be fast enough.

"I can play this game all afternoon," Clint shouted tauntingly. A lie, of course, since he would eventually run out of arrows. He expected Rogers would run out of patience first, however.

"Natasha said you'd been benched," Rogers called back, again moving toward his shield. "I don't need my shield if you're going to keep missing," he added as he then changed his charge at the last second to once more put Clint's health in danger.

"Not benched because I couldn't fucking make the shot," Clint muttered to himself, since it was obvious that Rogers was only going to believe what he already thought was going on, not what was really happening.

"I'll show you a miss."

This time his arrow sliced across Rogers' left shoulder, parting fabric but not flesh, rending the neat little American flag patch, that also happened to hold one of the SHIELD trackers according to Hill. Of course, living up to his flag waver reputation, that only pissed Rogers off and he actually accelerated his run, which would definitely increase the impact if Clint let himself get body slammed.

Maybe that was a good idea, since nothing else seemed to work or get through the probably merited paranoia Rogers was operating under. So many people were going to owe Clint favors after this –

Even though he suspected it wouldn't survive the encounter, better that his bow get broken than one or both of his arms. Clint brought it around instead of going for another shot, jabbing out with it as if it were a bo staff just as Rogers closed the distance. Punching Rogers directly in the star jarred them both, and if Rogers had been normal, it might have even caused him to pull up short and start gasping for breath. Rogers wasn't normal, however, and while Clint liked to think the wince was the result of actually feeling the hit to his sternum, it might have just been because of the crack his bow made – and the futility of the gesture, since it barely bled off any momentum.

Clint steadied his stance and matched the look of anger and determination that crossed Rogers' face with a similar expression, although his anger was reserved for the criminally stupid SHIELD or WSC people who actually believed that Steve Rogers would be party to any assassination, much less Nick Fury's. He figured they each looked like they were ready to kill one another, which should be playing well to Overwatch and those idiots no doubt getting a feed back at the Triskelion. He was done with this bullshit, and he knew exactly the kind of man Rogers was.

A subtle shift of his weight even as he brought his bow back to grasp it in both hands, Clint locked the knee of his forward leg just as Rogers bull-dozed into him. His bow made one kind of snapping noise before shattering into pieces, his knee another, and the sudden agony almost shorted Clint's brain. He couldn't help yelling from the pain, but he still managed to get one hand around his body to release one of the catches on his quiver so he wouldn't end up breaking his back ribs too, by landing on it when he crashed onto his back.

It seemed Rogers wasn't expecting Clint to just fold; he ended up stumbling over to follow Clint down although, fortunately, he did manage to stop himself from turning Clint into a whimpering pancake.

"Shit, Barton!" Rogers looked downright stricken. "Why did you – "

"Authenticity," Clint coughed out, relieved that the only blood he tasted seemed to come from where he'd bitten the inside of his cheek. "We're under observation and don't you dare show concern and undo all my hard work. I'm fine," he added, when Rogers made a pained noise and an abortive move to roll away.

Now Rogers looked skeptical, but he quickly figured things out – or he was still pretty pissed because he slammed Clint's hand into the dirt before Clint could grab one of his shafts to use as a hand weapon. Rogers immediately shifted to be able to then pin down both of Clint's wrists.

Clint grinned and put up a token struggle. "There are more strike teams on the way. They've been tracking you since you left HQ and Hill thinks there are multiple tracers in your suit." He gave a nod with his chin to the cut he'd put in it.

Rogers looked pained and angry again, probably because in his mind, in doing that SHIELD had desecrated the American flag worse than Clint had.

"You've got to ditch the whole thing and get yourself to a public place. For the moment, SHIELD is concerned with what might get filmed and end up going viral, so crowds will slow them down. I took the liberty of packing a change of clothes and some shoes from your apartment into a duffel, and you'll probably find some other things missing once you're able to go back, because they're tossing your place to look for evidence that you're involved in Fury's death."

"I didn't –"

"Jesus, Rogers, I know." Clint interrupted. "The duffel is up under the monument sign leading into this place. You picking it up should be blocked from the helicopter's view, but it won't stay that way if you don't get off your ass and get going."

"What about you?"

Clint laughed. "This is what they get for sending me out when I was on medical leave. I'm only human, if a damn fine specimen, and you're a fucking super-soldier. Besides, I doubt anyone really thought I'd beat you, but I did slow you down and they get to test my loyalty, so it's win-win-win. "

"But I really hurt you – "

"Yeah, you did, but more by thinking I was missing than by crashing into me. I know how to take a hit, Rogers. I just had to make it look convincing."

Rogers still hesitated.

"Look, I've got my phone and am perfectly capable of dialing 911. Or Hill, who has both of our backs," he added, hoping that at least Rogers would believe that. "I'll be fine. Go. But if you run into Nat, you probably shouldn't tell her we ran into one another. At least not before all of this shit gets cleared up. She might – "

"Take my head without needing orders?" Rogers finished before Clint could get something like that out.

He was going to say it'd be his own head Natasha would be after, not Rogers, but if Rogers wanted to think otherwise, Clint had no problem not pointing out his own stupidity.

"Fine. But promise me you're going to call Hill," Rogers advised as he shifted his weight in preparation of rising. "Don't trust anyone with SHIELD. Rumlow and his men attacked me out of the blue, no warning, no attempt to talk." He threw a punch, for verisimilitude, of course, and Clint wasn't afraid to admit that he flinched, big time, though Rogers only hit the ground next to Clint's head.

"If she can't get you checked into a hospital under an assumed name, Stark can," Rogers added as he climbed to his feet and started jogging away. "But if you do end up calling him," Rogers added in a shout, good enough at the game to not even start to turn his head over his shoulder, "don't let Stark get any further involved. The WSC and SHIELD already don't trust him to work in anyone's interests other than his own. He can't give them another reason to tip the decision over to arresting him now that Fury's not around to back Stark up."

Like Clint could convince Stark to do – or not do – anything, but Clint didn't doubt that Rogers was right. He also thought Stark was smart enough to figure out his involvement wasn't going to help anyone without being warned away, not that Clint planned on actually calling him in the first place. He had fake ID with him as a matter of course, no outside help necessary.

The last thing this clusterfuck needed was to turn into an Avengers thing instead of just a SHIELD-Steve Rogers thing.

*******

Clint was no stranger to waking up in a hospital bed or under the influence of the really good drugs. What was mildly surprising was sensing that he wasn't alone. While Nat might sometimes sit vigil after he'd hurt himself, he trusted Rogers not to have gone back on his word, nor was hanging around hospitals Hill's style. Besides, the subtle scent his minder was wearing was not one of Natasha's, at least not one she voluntarily wore, and Hill didn't wear any perfume – at least not while she was on duty.

Clint supposed his mystery woman might be an actual minder, someone that SHIELD had sent over to wherever he'd ended up, but either he was more fucked up than he thought coming out of his fight with Captain America, or SHIELD hadn't put him under arrest. Not so chauvinistic to think a woman couldn't best him (he regularly sparred with Natasha, after all), but the last time SHIELD doubted his loyalty, he'd been put in restraints while they treated him, and it wasn't like the threat he'd poised them had lessened any in the interim.

Reasonably convinced, therefore, of his conclusions and his safety, Clint opened his eyes. To discover pretty much the last person he ever would have suspected.

Tony Stark's fiancée and the CEO of his multi-billion dollar company, Ms. Virginia 'Pepper' Potts.

"Ms. Potts?" he tried to ask, though he suspected he mostly just made noise. That told him he'd been under longer than expected.

"You've been out for nearly fifteen hours," she answered what was no doubt obvious in his expression as she also set down her Stark pad and grabbed the ubiquitous hospital cup of ice chips.

Not just passed out then, but under general anesthesia. Great.

"When it was determined that you needed arthroscopic surgery on your knee, Tony demanded that you get only the best orthopedic surgeon, so we're in New York. And, yes, Steve Rogers called him," she added, with a gentle, admonishing smile. "While you've been in recovery, Captain America became number one on SHIELD's terrorist list; all but Ms. Hawley of the World Security Council were assassinated by fellow council member Alexander Pierce before a resurrected Nick Fury killed him; all three new SHIELD helicarriers fired on each other before crashing into the Triskelion and the Potomac; and Natasha Romanova is currently testifying before Congress about how all of that happened, including that the world at large has learned that SHIELD was simply a HYDRA front pretty much since its inception. Oh, and Tony is pissed off because all of his work in hacking SHIELD's databases ended up for naught, as that information was dumped onto the internet for everyone to read," she added, her smile turning impish.

"And other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?" is all that Clint could think to respond with, given the sheer amount of life-shattering, impossibilities she'd just told him.

"You're going to be fine, Clint," she said and patted him on the arm. "Everyone is going to be fine."

Maybe, but she'd left someone out. "Steve?"

"Was instrumental in preventing the helicarriers from murdering several million people that HYDRA felt threatened their ascension to world domination. He was obviously in a fight with someone before going down with the last helicarrier, but he's in his own hospital bed in DC, and will undoubtedly get his release before you will."

It was a little scary to find out something could lay Rogers low enough that he'd needed hospitalization before the serum in his veins could heal him back to full health, but he didn't doubt that Potts was right. He'd known full well the weeks of PT in store for him when he'd let Rogers take him out. It sounded like there would be plenty of things for him to catch up on while he convalesced, at least; not to say how he also apparently had the time to redefine his life, now that everything that had kept him moored had fallen apart.

"Wait, you said Fury's not dead?"

Potts nodded. "Not dead, but not retaking control of SHIELD's ashes, according to Stark Industries' newest employee, Maria Hill."

Clint huffed a laugh, relieved to hear Fury had been up to his tricks and that Hill had already found a place for herself in their new world. Of course, Hill and Stark were their own form of oil and vinegar, just like Stark and Rogers, so he had to wonder how long Hill's employment would last, unless she was playing her own long game.

"The Avengers are still going to need a liaison with the government and local jurisdictions," Potts once again seemed to be able to read his mind –

He had to find out what they had him on if he was this open and make sure he was never given it again.

"—I figured she'd prefer our self-insured healthcare plan to one she might be able to get on her own, since everyone in the business has decided the Avengers are uninsurable," Potts was continuing. "I took the liberty of drawing up your own employment contract, if you're also interested in coming on board. Don't sign it if you're just worried about the bill you just racked up. Tony has already covered this stay and you have a backdated consultant agreement on file with the SI lawyers. Natasha forged your signature on it before she left for DC again."

Well, good – and shit, he supposed. Nat wasn't going to let him live this down.

"Tony is also thinking the Avengers needs to become its own corporate entity, now that SHIELD is out of the picture, if only for the potential nuisance and liability lawsuits. So you do have several options beyond whatever I'm sure you had put in place on your own if you decided to leave SHIELD."

"I guess the contracts explain why you're here?" he speculated, trusting her well enough, but not so well as to spill any of his back-up plans. He really doubted Natasha had either, even though he knew the two of them had kept in touch beyond the Avengers thing once Potts had gotten over Natalie Rushman being Natasha Romanova, SHIELD spy.

The expression Potts gave him made him uncomfortable, one that was friendly enough, but also somewhat hurt.

He hadn't meant to insult her by keeping some of his secrets close to his chest –

"I'm here because you deserved to have a friendly face greet you when you woke up."

She was good. He might have fallen for that, had he not glimpsed a hint of the imp again. No wonder Stark was gone on her.

"You mean everyone else called not it before you could," he interjected, even as they both knew that everyone else was obviously dealing with their own recoveries, whether physical or emotional.

"You caught me out. But we do consider you family, Clint. Tony and I. You are always welcome in our home. For now though, do you have any questions?"

"I wouldn't know where to start, Ms. Potts – "

"Family, remember? It's Pepper."

Clint inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Pepper. So SHIELD was just another face of HYDRA?" He guess he did have a starting point after all.

"A larger percentage than anyone would have hoped, but hey, that means it's likely some of the people who got in Loki's way weren't on the side of the angels, so there's that," Stark answered to announce his arrival.

"Tony!"

Tony Stark, all of the pros and cons about working for SI, in one egotistical, genius package.

"He's not wrong," Clint reassured her, mollified not so much by Stark's crass sentiment, as the realization that Stark had meant the Loki reference and hadn't just been spouting the kind of platitudes and stock responses he'd gotten from the shrinks and well meaning but banal co-workers over the last two years. Stark truly felt that Clint had been the bullet and not the trigger in all those deaths, not that Clint had been ready to hear it in those first weeks after Loki (it had been his talks with Bruce that had helped him the most, much to Natasha's annoyance and gratitude).

"So are you going to be calling me boss, now, Katniss? Or sir? I like sir – "

"Not even if I do sign on the dotted line, Stark. Maybe Shellhead, or Iron A – Butt," he amended for Pot – Pepper's sake, though he knew she'd heard much worse. Probably said it herself, too.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm not sure what I could contribute to your bottom line," Clint continued, reinforcing his gratefulness by giving him honesty instead of just attitude. "Not unless you took up weapons manufacturing again, and even then, my expertise is pretty limited – "

"I don't believe that for a minute, Bird-Brain, but have it your way. For now." Stark responded. "The position will be there a week from now and a year from now, same as the Tower having a place you can crash at if the paparazzi and Hawk-guy's fans get to be too much now that everyone knows your real name and that you live in Bed-Stuy, of all places. For here, you're registered under Oliver Fairbanks and JARVIS assures me the documentation is flawless. Initially it was going to be Errol, but Errol Fairbanks seemed a little obvious, and _someone_ wouldn't let me use Frank Roman, even if that was the most natural alias. Francis? Really?"

Oh, how Clint was not surprised Stark had ferreted out his file, but then he guessed everyone had their own copy of it now, assuming they would bother. At least certain parts of it had stayed redacted, never put on the computer and known only to Fury, Coulson, and eventually Natasha.

"Welcome to the unimaginative world of Waverly, Iowa, Stark. _Anthony_. I was told it was a family name on my mother's side, but going by some of the arguments I remember from when I was a kid, I think my mom just liked Frank Sinatra and Clint Eastwood. Maybe better than my dad."

Instead of pouncing on a tidbit that even Coulson hadn't known, Tony nodded.

"Better either of those reasons, than being named after the guy who wrote the book on being a monk. Talk about not living up to expectations." Tony punctuated that reply with a wink and a put on expression of shame. The self-mockery disappeared, if only for a second, to be replaced by a show of wonder before once more degenerating into derision.

"Rogers, on the other hand," not that Stark was fooling anyone that the respect and admiration wasn't real. "He really is all truth, justice and the American way. Hell, forget Chuck Norris. If Captain America ordered a Big Mac at Burger King, he'd get one."

Clint sniggered. "Death once had a near-Captain America experience."

"When the boogeyman goes to sleep at night, he checks his closet for Captain America."

"And that's quite enough," Pepper said, putting a hand on both of their arms. "Clint needs his rest and you need to get back on the phone, Tony."

Tony still had his smirk, but was nodding. "Hey," he said as he started to get up. "You heard it was the Winter Soldier, right? Fury's not-quite assassin? He's also the one who managed to put the hurt on Rogers."

"Winter Soldier was on my list."

Tony seemed pleased by that, but then his expression turned troubled. "Did they tell you who the Winter Soldier has turned out to be?"

Clint shook his head.

"None other than James Buchanan Barnes. Steve's Bucky. That's probably going to mess Rogers up more than finding out he's been working for HYDRA instead of SHIELD. I'm thinking we should all get together and make sure Rogers doesn't do anything stupid. Can I count on your help?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Good. Start thinking up some bonding shit, things each of us might have in common with Rogers, or can at least offer from our own expertise and interests as distractions. Rogers had just started to find his purpose again with SHIELD, and it's hard enough having to reinvent yourself once."

Certainly not something Clint needed to be told, but then, maybe he did. Most of Tony's words could have been about him or Natasha; they were all at loose ends right now, even without the trauma of finding out your best friend was alive—and trying to kill you.

Tony really was a damn genius.

Clint watched Tony walk away, let Pepper give him a kiss on his forehead before she disappeared too, and knew that they'd both be back. Tony might have a funny way of showing kindness, but that was family, or so Clint had always thought, looking from the outside in to the ones he'd wished he'd been a part of. This wouldn't be the first or even the fourth time he needed to reinvent himself, but having friends on hand to help? That was a novel – and pretty good – feeling.

Or it was the really, really good drugs.

– Finis –

 

 

 


End file.
